


The Incredible Hulk

by Lira169



Series: Recreating a Universe [2]
Category: Marvel Cinematic Universe, The Incredible Hulk (2008)
Genre: Bruce Needs a Hug, Gen, I Tried, Rewrite, betty is great, hulk is great, i kinda like samuel sterns he's iconic, thaddeus ross can disappear for all i care
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-09-09
Updated: 2020-09-16
Packaged: 2021-03-06 23:35:20
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 14,229
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26377396
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Lira169/pseuds/Lira169
Summary: They called him a monster. A terror. He was a military experiment gone wrong.He looks in the mirror and sees a monster. A terror. An abomination unworthy of love, let alone friendship.He's going to fix it.—A Hulk rewrite because they deserve better.—The second of many.
Relationships: Betty Ross/Leonard Samson, Bruce Banner & Betty Ross, past Bruce Banner/Betty Ross
Series: Recreating a Universe [2]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1876648
Comments: 10
Kudos: 13





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> hihihihihihi everyone welcome to Hulk! This follows the plot of Hulk, with slight changes character-wise and with more introspection into Bruce's inner state of mind, because Bruce deserves to be understood and not overlooked!
> 
> Beta: [Doctorwhoover](https://archiveofourown.org/users/doctorwhoover)
> 
> This will be released in two parts, with part two released next week.
> 
> Enjoy!

"Are you sure about this?"

The 35-year-old scientist winked at Betty Ross from his position on the test chair. It was a simple radiation resistance project - Bruce was isolated in the room while observations were made through radiation-shielding glass windows. Bruce took a deep breath and stared into the green light of the laser, preparing himself for the radiation.

That green light would be all he remembered seeing when he woke up, surrounded by the corpses of his fellow scientists and the barely alive forms of Betty and Thaddeus Ross.

_ Tick _

Sitting beside Betty's hospital bed, clinging onto the steady beeps of the electrocardiogram that reminded him of her mortality, Bruce started to realize that 1. the experiment had gone very, very wrong, and 2. he had become something dangerous and uncontrollable - a  _ monstrosity _ \- and had taken innocent lives in his frenzy.

_ Tick _

Thaddeus Ross barged into the hospital room, his face red with anger and eyes wide with fear, and chased Bruce out of the room, where he wouldn't pose a threat to Betty. Bruce couldn't find it in himself to blame Thaddeus for his distrust.

_ Tick _

Bruce was now on the run from Thaddeus Ross and the army, who saw potential in his monster and wanted to weaponize him. The thought of an army full of monsters like him kept him awake, on the days where he had the mental capacity to spare a thought for something other than keeping his mutation in control.

_ Tick _

He tried many times to contact Betty, to apologize for hurting her, to hear her voice, to see if she was okay, to-

_ Tick _

She never replied. 

_ Ti- _

Bruce grabbed hold of the metronome, allowing silence to flood the room once more. That had been five years ago. He was still on the run.

**ROCINHA FAVELA - BRAZIL**

**DAYS WITHOUT INCIDENT - 158**

Bruce lived a humble temporary life in Brazil, almost like a monk - if a monk was constantly on the run. There was rope tied to the latch of the kitchen window and coiled neatly on the counter. A styrofoam head wearing a wig and a baseball cap sat in a corner of the small living-room-slash-bedroom. In another corner, there was a low bed placed against a wall.

With breakfast in one hand and a 'Compact Portuguese English Dictionary' in the other, Bruce settled down in front of the TV. He surfed through the channels - News, Sports, Drama - and eventually landed on a channel playing a Sesame Street episode. Breakfast was usually spent practicing his portuguese on his companion, which he did.

" _ Está com fome? _ "

Ricky, his canine roommate, cocked his head at Bruce, wagging his tail.

After breakfast was training. Bruce packed his things and made his way to the Aikido studio for his daily lessons with his personal instructor. Bruce sat cross-legged, facing the instructor. Today's lesson was on breathing.

"The best way to control your anger is to control your body," the instructor said in Portuguese. 

Bruce nodded, mimicking his instructor’s breathing pattern. In. Out. In. Out.

The instructor slapped him.

It was sudden, and violating, and the pulse monitor on Bruce’s wrist started beeping as his heart rate quickened, a little over 80 beats per minute. He was angry. He was-

“Breathe.”

He breathed. In. Out. In. Out. His breaths were small and rapid and loud, puffs of air exhaled as quickly as his heart was beating. They’d done this before, it was part of the training. He just had to stay calm. He thought it was working.

Another slap.

_ beepbeepbeepbeep _

Bruce held up a hand to signal a break. He checked his pulse monitor.

146 beats per minute.

~~~

Bruce’s life in Brazil followed a set schedule. Breakfast, language practice, training, work, more language practice,  lie awake in bed thinking about Betty,  sleep.

He was in the locker room of the Guarana Soda bottling factory a few days later when someone walked by, shoving him into his locker. 

_ breathe _

He ignored it and got to work, transporting empty bottles to machine operators, including a pretty woman, who smiled at him. He smiled back absentmindedly and kept moving.

His work was interrupted by his coworker signalling to him that it was break time. Bruce split the allocated break time between food and breathing exercises. 

His manager approached him after break, asking for his help in fixing the remote for the machine that filled empty bottles with soda. He pressed the button a few times without response. Bruce took out his glasses from inside his jacket, putting them on so he could get a closer look. He opened the back of the box to see frayed wires, which he fixed in a few minutes. He pressed the button again, and the machines started to move.

His manager was pleased. Bruce knew where this was going, they’d been having this conversation for months.

“Five months you’ve been helping me out like this. You’re too smart for day labor. Let me put you on payroll,” his manager said in Portuguese, like he always did.

Bruce smiled at his manager, shaking his head politely. With the army looking for him, and his unstable companion, there was no telling how much longer he would spend in Brazil. He simply couldn’t afford to take up a permanent position.

Looking away from the remote was a mistake. While absentmindedly fiddling with it, he cut himself on one of its sharp corners. He watched as his skin split, spilling two drops of blood down from the observation area to the factory line. His eyes caught sight of a droplet, locking onto it. He jumped down from the railing and started running along the conveyor belt.

“Stop! Stop the belt!” He yells to the manager, who repeats the order in Portuguese.

A worker, bless his soul, pressed the button to shut down machine processes.

Bruce’s mind screamed at him as he anxiously searched through the line of empty soda bottles. He had never been this careless, especially not with his blood. How did this happen now, in a beverage factory of all places? The thought of someone across the world unknowingly drinking from a bottle contaminated with his radioactive blood sent shivers down his spine. His hands were shaking when he finally saw the drop of blood on the conveyor belt between two empty bottles. 

_ thank god _

He took out a handkerchief to wipe off the blood, breathing out a sigh of relief. He signaled an “OK” sign with his uninjured hand to the manager, who laughed, but allowed the processes to continue. The man shook his head curiously.

Bruce took out the CRAZY GLUE, applying it to his wound. He was still shaking from his previous panic, but the problem had been solved, and he walked back to continue delivering bottles.

He didn’t see the second drop of blood in a bottle a little further from the first drop of blood. The contaminated bottle was filled with soda and capped, and packaged to be sent to the USA.

What he  _ did _ see was four Brazillian men harassing the same pretty woman who smiled at him earlier that day. The men teased her, blocking her from sitting back down at her station, while the leader bombarded her with questions. The woman found Bruce and looked to him for help, clearly uncomfortable with the situation.

_ I don’t want to deal with this _

Bruce walked away. He couldn’t afford risking a confrontation. The woman would be fine.

_ She will be fine _

But the leader of the four men tried to stroke her cheek. She shoved his hand away, and he grabbed her arm.

“What are you, too good for us?” Was spat in Portuguese.

Bruce turned around, letting his conscience carry him back. He never considered himself to be the one to start conflicts, but this was not a situation to be blamed on diffusion of responsibility, no matter how many onlookers there were. At the very least, he could practice his Portuguese.

“Everything good?”

Everyone turned to him. He felt himself start to shrink under the attention. The woman -  _ Martina _ , he recalled - was visibly relieved.

“Dump your load and get lost, mule. We’re talking,” the leader of the group was the first to respond.

Bruce ignored the men, focusing on removing Martina from the situation.

“You want to have lunch with me? Martina?”

Martina started to nod, but the leader sauntered up to Banner threateningly.

“I said beat it, you want a problem?”

Banner backed away, holding his hands up to show he didn’t want a fight.

“No problem,” he said.

“Too late,” the leader said, and shoved Bruce hard in the chest. 

Bruce stumbled. The other three men approached behind their leader. Martina screamed at them to stop, but the beeping of the pulse monitor on his wrist was the only thing he heard. He casted a glance at it.

75… 76…

Bruce held up a hand, “okay, listen. Don’t make me angry, you wouldn’t like me when I’m…”

He trailed off at the confused look on everyone’s faces. Even Martina was looking at him like he’d said something extremely weird. 

He tried again.

“Don’t make me angry,” he said, and then realised that he didn’t actually know how to say  _ angry _ in Portuguese, and had been saying  _ hungry _ instead, “wait, that’s not right, ah shit.”

The leader snapped out of his confusion, clearly done with listening. He took a swing at Bruce, who dodged it and took his own swing.

His fist didn’t connect, barely even touched, but the leader went flying past his sidekicks and stumbled back. 

The leader was pissed now as he got up and wiped his hand on his shirt. Bruce readied himself for the attack. The leader ran at Bruce, raining blow after blow on him. Bruce dodged, ducked and weaved between punches, applying his non-aggressive martial arts techniques to leave the other man flailing like a fool without even touching him.

The fight was broken up by the manager, who saw what was going on from the catwalk above.

“Hey! Cut it out! I got supply sitting here collecting bugs! You want me to hire somebody else to move it?” He yelled in Portuguese, “now!”

The leader backed off, but his eyes were still filled with anger. 

“Another time,” he spat in Portuguese, and Bruce could tell it wasn’t an empty threat. The group of men walked away, one of them laughing and patting the leader on the shoulder. 

Bruce took Martina for the rest of the day, in case the leader tried something else.

He didn’t.

~~~

Bruce stopped by his friend’s shop after he walked Martina home. They exchanged small talk in Portuguese. Bruce didn’t have many friends, but in the five months he’d lived in Brazil, he’d found people he could trust - his instructor, his manager, and the shop owner, who helped receive his delivery packages to keep his own address secret. As far as his friend knew, it was simply because he was never home and couldn’t receive his own packages, but that was reason enough for Bruce to get his assistance.

There was a package for him today. That was enough to wipe away the panic and anger-inducing situations that occurred hours ago. Bruce hugged his friend in his elation and ran home. Ricky looked at him curiously when he barged into his own apartment door with excitement.

“See that?” He told the dog, “it’s our ticket out of here.”

He sat at his worktable, which held his only possessions of note - rows of various small glass bottles filled with liquid were neatly self-labeled and arranged in rows, a decent looking microscope sat beside the row of bottles and in front of a small field satellite link antenna. He set down his bag, pulling out his laptop, a tiny fan, and Betty’s picture, cut out from a newspaper article. 

He turned on the laptop and the satellite link. The laptop started at the “Instant Message” screen, showing large white text:  **ENCRYPTED - CALLING MR. BLUE.**

He started typing.

**Bruce:** _ Blue, are you there? _

While waiting for his friend’s reply, he unwrapped the package, revealing a white flower.  _ Finally.  _ His laptop chimed with an incoming message.

**Mr. Blue:** _ Mr. Green!  _

**Mr. Blue:** _Good hearing from you again, my mysterious friend!_

Bruce smiles, typing in his next message. 

**Bruce:** _ I’ve found it. _

**Mr. Blue:** _ At long last. _

**Mr. Blue:** _ It’s a lovely little flower, isn’t it? _

Bruce picked up the flower, wrist turning so he could admire it from different angles.

His laptop chimed with another message.

**Mr. Blue:** _ Be sure to try a high dose.  _

**Mr. Blue:** _ Good luck :) _

The next few hours were spent on his experiment. Bruce snipped away at the petals of the flower, methodically and painstakingly extracting the tiny amounts of juice from the petals and mixing it with various solvents, referring to Mr. Blue’s notes on his laptop until he acquired a green-coloured solution, which he put into the centrifuge to separate any impurities. He filtered the solution and put it into a bottle.

He wasn’t even tired after the long day of training and work. He couldn’t be, not when the solution to his curse was within reach.

There was just one more step to be taken. Bruce pricked his own finger, drawing out a single drop of blood that he carefully placed onto a glass slide. He slid it under the microscope to look at it - red blood cells were tinged with a glowing green energy, a sign of residual radiation, and a sign of the abomination that he had become. If everything went smoothly, this would be the last time he had to look at them.

  
He removed the glass slide and picked up a dropper, extracting the liquid from the glass, which had turned purple. He carefully brought the dropper over the glass slide, squeezing one, two, three drops onto the slide. He slid it under the microscope again.

He was just in time to see the green disappear from his blood cells, like an ocean wave cleaning away the debris. His cells looked normal.  _ His cells looked normal. _

Until they didn't. 

The green reappeared with a vengeance, and the cells expanded with force until the glass slide was broken. Bruce flinched back.

“Dammit,” he uttered, completely defeated.

He disposed of the slide. He’d been so sure, too. He’d been so hopeful. He turned back to his laptop, typing out his frustrations.

**Bruce:** _ Another failure _

**Mr. Blue:** _ :( How much did you use? _

Bruce picked up the bare stem of the flower, looking as sad as he felt. He dropped it on the table.

**Bruce:** _ All of it. _

**Mr. Blue:** _ Then it’s time to meet _

Bruce stared at the screen. It wasn’t not that he didn’t trust Mr. Blue. Blue was the only person who knew about his condition. His dangerous, deadly condition that had set him on the run from the US army. He typed his answer.

**Bruce:** _ Not safe _

**Mr. Blue:** _ Living with GAMMA poisoning is not safe.  _

**Mr. Blue:** _ Stop chasing flowers _

**Mr. Blue:** _ Send me a blood sample _

Bruce hesitated at that. His blood was dangerous. So many things could go wrong.

**Mr. Blue:** _ Can’t help if you won’t let me. _

Bruce’s eyes wandered to the newspaper clipping of Betty. He wondered how she was doing. He wanted to meet her so badly, but it was too dangerous.  _ He  _ was too dangerous. He was tired of being dangerous.

He grabbed a syringe needle and drew blood from his arm, transferring it into a test tube. He labeled it MR. GREEN, put it into a package, and took the package to the post office, where he wrote down Mr. Blue’s mailing address and dropped it off.

At this point, he had nothing to lose.

~~~

Somewhere in Wisconsin, USA, an old man retrieved a bottle of Guarana Soda from the fridge. He took a sip.

“Wow,” he said.

The bottle dropped to the floor.

~~~

**ARLINGTON - VIRGINIA**

Thaddeus Ross sat at his desk in the Pentagon, lost in thought. It had been too long and any trace of Banner had vanished. Ross was not one to tolerate failure, not even his own. His plan to recreate the super serum had gone awry, resulting in fatal casualties. He had failed to protect his daughter. He had failed to prevent Banner’s escape.

He needed to right his wrongs, and reclaim the serum. The serum was the key to creating an army of enhanced soldiers. He would finally receive the recognition for his efforts. 

Banner had the serum, and knew too much. He  _ needed _ to capture Banner, that was his first priority.

He was snapped out of his thoughts as Detective Cabot, his right-hand, entered his office with a stack of forms. He was led through the dullness of signing the requisition orders before she handed him two pages of fax.

“And here’s something a little more interesting,” she said, a twinkle in her eyes.

He held out his hand for the papers, not too optimistic about its contents. Cabot continued talking as he glanced through the fax.

“Possible gamma sickness. Milwaukee. Man drank one of those Guarana sodas, had more kick than he was looking for.”

Ross stood up, alert, “Where was it bottled?”

“Porto Verde, Brazil.”

This was it. He could  _ feel _ it. Adrenaline pumped through his veins, his heart beating fast to match his excitement.

“Get our Agency people looking for a white man at that bottling plant. Tell them  _ no contact _ , if he even sees them, he’s gone.”

~~~

**FORT JOHNSON - EVERGLADES**

Ross stood with an old friend near the runway at the special forces base, watching as men in uniforms rushed to and from helicopters and military vehicles. 

General Sam Greller introduced the team of soldiers he had hand-picked for the mission.

“I got you who I could. Short notice, but they’re all quality, and I pulled you one ace. Emil Blonsky. Born in Russia, raised in England, and on loan to SOCOM from the Royal Marines.”

Ross turned to his friend, “I know you cashed some chips for this, Sam. I’m grateful.”

Greller nodded.

“Glad to do it. Just make it good.”

They entered the plane where the men were checking their weapons. The plane took off.

General Ross sat at the front of the plane, clearing up details of the mission with Cabot. At the back of the plane, the soldiers sat patiently waiting for intel.

Cabot headed to the rear of the plane to brief the soldiers. She handed out photos of Banner, his apartment building and the surrounding area.

“This is the target and the location. Insert and grab only, live capture. You’ll have tranq rifles and suppression ordinance. Live fire for backup only. We’ve got help from locals but we want it tight and quiet.”

Emil Blonsky rifled through the photos, etching them into memory. Banner didn’t look like much of a threat.

“Is he a fighter?” He asked.

General Ross turned back from his seat to look at Blonsky.

“Your target is a fugitive from the US government and stole military secrets,” Ross said. He stood up to address the whole team.

“He is implicated in the deaths of three scientists, a military officer, an Idaho State trooper and possibly two Canadian hunters,” Ross turned to look Blonsky in the eye as he continued,” so don’t wait to see if he’s a fighter. Tranq him, bring him back.”

~~~

Bruce laid in bed, staring into space. His mind was the victim to a hurricane of doubts - was Betty okay? Would he ever be free of his condition? Would he ever see Betty again? He was tired of living life on the run. He just wanted a normal life.

He jolted to attention when his laptop chimed. He rushed out of bed to his laptop and accepted the connection. 

**ENCRYPTING STATUS: 100%**

**ENCRYPTED**

**Incoming call…**

**Mr. Blue:** _ Good news. _

**Mr. Blue:** _ Preliminary blood tests show significant gamma reduction. _

Bruce stared at the screen in shock. None of his experiments had ever shown such promising results. He hesitantly typed his question.

**Bruce:** _ Will it cure me? _

**Mr. Blue:** _ Yes, but…  _

**Mr. Blue:** _ I need more DATA. _

“Oh, come on!” 

Bruce should have expected this. 

**Mr. Blue:** _ Exposure levels, gamma concentration, cell saturation _

**Bruce:** _ Impossible. Data is not here. _

**Mr. Blue** :  _ Where is it? _

His eyes stray over to Betty’s picture on the newspaper clipping. An article written about Betty Ross’ achievements at Culver University.

**Bruce** : _HOME_

He quickly shut the laptop.

~~~

Bruce woke up in the dead of night to Max looking at the front door, alert. 

_ They found me _

He was awake in an instant, blinking away the last remnants of sleep that clung to his consciousness. He scrambled together a decoy on the bed - a few pillows and the styrofoam head arranged under a blanket enough to be convincing. 

He picked up his backpack, throwing down the rope attached to his kitchen window and off he went down the side of the building, climbing down until he got to an open window. He distantly heard the sounds of a small explosion - they had broken into his apartment and he only had a few seconds before they found out he’d escaped. Glancing down, he saw Martina in the midst of changing, half undressed, eyes open and ready to scream. He hurriedly entered through the window, hand clasped over her mouth to keep her quiet.

“I need help,” he whispered in Portuguese, and she nodded.

Martina, bless her soul, ushered him deeper into her apartment while she kept watch outside. He closed his eyes and allowed himself time to breathe. His heart was racing too fast for comfort.

Hurried footsteps echoed from the ground. Martina came back to tell him that the coast was clear. Bruce had never been so thankful for knowing her.

He pressed a kiss to her cheek, thanking her in Portuguese. This might just be the last he saw of her.

He pulled the hoodie of his red jacket over his head to hide his face and left the apartment. He ran through town, trying to evade the soldiers, but when did anything ever go his way? He was quickly spotted by one of them and was pulled into a chase. He ran for his life, weaving through buildings and hopping across rooftops. He ran for what felt like hours until he started to hear frantic beeping.

_ shit _

He hid behind a wall of crated sodas. 175 BPM. He gripped at the crates and started his breathing exercises until his heart rate slowed back to normal. 

That was close.

Bruce ducked out from behind the crates and, well, locked eyes with the same soldier who spotted him earlier. He took off running in the opposite direction until he ran down a ramp and came face to face with Ross’ van.

_ shit shit shit _

More running. More risk. More frantic beeping. Bruce kept running until he reached a semi-crowded area and slammed into someone. 

He got up, an apology on his tongue when he recognized the leader from the factory, backed up by the same followers.

“Oh no. You gotta be kidding me,” he muttered to himself.

The leader went for a punch but Bruce ducked and flipped him over. The other three followers readied for a fight. 

_ time to go _

He ran again, now locked in a chase with the gang, no less dangerous than the soldiers. His legs took him to the factory, where he hid behind a row of lockers. That turned out to be a pretty bad hiding place, given that the gang started looking for a way into the factory almost instantly. He spotted the soldiers from before also lurking outside the building.

_ dammit _

He had to leave. He ran to the back of the factory just in time to evade both groups in pursuit, who had started to enter the building. He was so preoccupied with ensuring they weren’t catching up that he wasn’t looking forward, where the gang was already waiting.

Pain exploded all over his body as he was beaten up. Through the haziness of his vision, he saw his bag being carelessly tossed to the side. 

He remembered begging for them to stop so he could check on the computer - his only chance at recovery. He remembered trying to warn them that him being angry would lead to nothing good and being mocked for his broken Portuguese in return.

_ beep beep beep _

_ 191 BPM _

He remembered the horror of looking up past the bullies and staring at the barrels of guns aimed at him from soldiers keeping watch above. He remembered trying to warn the gang to no avail. He remembered one of the guys in the group, mistaken for Bruce, being shot down by the soldiers and he remembered being thrown to the ground.

_ Beepbeepbeepbeep _

_ 200 BPM _

Bruce remembered seeing green, and nothing else.

Bruce woke up in the woods near a waterfall. He was shirtless, his pants were ripped to shreds, and he no longer had the picture of Betty.

He lost a part of himself with the only picture of Betty he owned, but he had to keep moving. He tied his pants around his waist to keep them on his body, and hiked to a nearby road with what energy he could muster.

**DAYS WITHOUT INCIDENT - 1**

Salvation came in the form of a truck driving along the road. He waved his hand and called out in desperation for the truck to stop, and it did.

“Can you help me?” He asked in Portuguese.

The driver looked at him in confusion.

“ _ No habla Portuguese _ ,” the driver replied. Bruce furrowed his brow, confused, his groggy mind taking a minute before it clicked in his head.

He asked again, in Spanish, “where am I?”

“Guatemala. I’m going to the next town.”

“Will you help me?”

He must have looked pitiful, tugging the rags of his clothing around his body, and shivering in the rain that had started not long ago. 

The driver reached over to the side and opened the door for him.

“Get in,” the driver said in Spanish, and handed him a towel, “put this on. Where are you going?”

Bruce replied, “home.”

~~~

Emil Blonsky was furious. He was confused, and scared, and shaken by what he witnessed in the factory - all of them were.  _ Something  _ had happened in that factory, and they were left with so many unanswered questions. Even the lead they had found - a newspaper clipping of a woman amongst Banner’s belongings - had been written off without a thought.

_ “Is that a girlfriend? She helps him, maybe?” _

_ “She is no longer a factor. We closed that door to him a long time ago. He’s alone. He wants to be alone, but see if he’s been talking to anybody.” _

No answers and no more work - all the soldiers who had witnessed the incident had been pulled out of the hunt.

Emil voiced his stance as he walked beside Ross, persistent and insistent and not going down without a fight.

“I’ve run into bad situations on crap missions before. I’ve seen good men go down, purely because someone didn’t let us know what we were walking into. I’ve moved on to the next one, because that’s what we do, right? I mean, that’s the job. But this? This is a whole new level of weird, and I don’t feel inclined to step away from it. So if you’re taking another crack at him, I want in.”

Emil Blonsky had never been a quitter, but this wasn’t just a matter of pride. They were sent in with no idea of what could happen - what  _ did  _ happen, and they had lost their own men. Soldiers were expendable, but only for reasonable cause.

He could tell that the general was running out of patience, so he got to the point.

“And with respect, you should be looking for a team that’s prepped and ready to fight because if that thing shows up again, you’re gonna have a lot of professional tough guys pissing in their pants,” he casted one last glance at the general, who hadn’t changed his walking pace, “sir.”

~~~

**CHIAPAS - MEXICO**

Bruce begged his way across Mexico. He slept against lampposts in the market square, arms outstretched to form a cup for kind actions until he could afford a decent pair of stretchy pants at the market. He settled against roll-up gates on the street, catching up on as much sleep as he could get before the recurring nightmare of being shot at by soldiers woke him up and spurred him to continue moving. 

He walked, and walked, and walked, until he was out of energy. He bought food to eat once every two days, and settled down to beg when he was out of money. His ribs were showing and his body was in a constant state of weakness.

Bruce begged his way over the border. 

~~~

Emil’s persistence paid off. He was put back on the hunt, and called to meet the general in the hangar.

It was a personal meeting. No witnesses. He was either going to be trusted with something important, or punished for his insubordination.

“Let me emphasize that what I’m about to share with you is tremendously sensitive, both to me personally and the Army.”

Emil nodded, relief flooding his chest.

The general continued, “You’re aware that we’ve got an infantry Weapons Development program. Well, in World War 2 they initiated a subprogram for Bio-Tech Force Enhancement.”

“Yeah,” Emil said, recalling the infamous project, “super soldier.”

“Yes. An oversimplification - but yes. I dusted it off, got ’em doing serious work again. Bold work. Across the hall, they were trying to arm you better. We were trying to make you better. Banner’s work was an early phase - it wasn’t even weapons application. He thought he was working on radiation resistance. I would have never told him what the project really was.”

Emil nodded and the general continued.

“But he was so sure of what he was onto that he tested it on himself. And something went very wrong - or it went very right. As far as I’m concerned, that man’s whole body is property of the U.S. Army.”

“You said he wasn’t working on weapons, right?”

“No.”

“But you were,” Emil said, “you were, weren’t you? You were trying other things.”

“One serum we developed was promising.”

Banner.

“So why did he run?”   
  


“He’s a scientist. He’s not one of us,” the general responded, “how old are you? 45?”

“39.”

“It takes a toll, doesn’t it.”

Emil nodded, “yes it does.”

“So get out of the trenches. You should be a colonel by now, with your record.”

“No,” the response was immediate, “I’m a fighter. I’ll be one for as long as I can. You know, if I could take what I know now, put it in the body I had 10 years ago, that would be someone I wouldn’t want to fight.”

Ross looked him over and seemed to be satisfied with what he saw. 

“I could probably arrange something like that.”

~~~

**CULVER UNIVERSITY - VIRGINIA**

**DAYS WITHOUT INCIDENT - 17**

He had made it. Culver University looked as magnificent as the day Bruce left. Bruce sat outside the university, hiding behind a newspaper and a baseball cap, both of which had been forgotten on a street somewhere. He sat until the crowd around the university thinned, and made his way to the entrance. He was so close-

Except he wasn’t, because he needed an ID to get in. Dejected, he turned around to walk away, mind whirring with ideas for the next step to take. He was sure his old ID would be flagged, if he even had it anymore.

He doubled back when he caught a glimpse of the faculty board. His eyes scanned the board until they landed on “Dr. Elizabeth Ross - Cellular Biology”. 

His breath stuttered in his chest.

He went back to sit in his spot, waiting.

Bruce waited for what felt like hours before he noticed Betty, beautiful Betty, walking out of the university with a few co-workers. He hurried to hide behind a nearby tree before she could spot him. He watched as she broke off from her friends and sat alone on a bench, smiling at something on her phone. She looked up in his direction, and he quickly ducked behind the tree, afraid to be noticed.

He really didn’t need to worry.

An unfamiliar man walked towards Betty. They shared a kiss and strolled away, holding hands.

Bruce stood in front of Stanley’s pizza place, weak and hungry and heartbroken. It was only 

evening and he was already exhausted from the rollercoaster of emotions he had been forced onto.

Bruce saw his old friend Stanley closing up shop. He rapped his knuckles against the door. 

Stanley pointed to the “CLOSED” sign without looking up, locking the door.

Bruce sighed. He knocked on the door again.

_ come on, Stan _

Stanley finally looked up, his facial expression changing from annoyance to shock in an instant as he recognized Bruce. He hurried to unlock the door and usher Bruce into the shop and further into the kitchen, where they wouldn’t be seen by passers by.

“Stan,” Bruce said as soon as it was safe, “I give you my word, whatever you heard about me, it’s not true.”

“Oh, I know it. I always knew it,” Stan replied without hesitation, “I mean, you know how I felt about you two. Have you talked to her?”

Bruce shook his head, trying not to let the hurt show. All those years with only her picture to keep him company, lying awake in bed imagining how they would meet again. He never expected any of this, though he probably should have.

“No,” he responded, “she doesn’t know I’m here. She’s with somebody?”

“Yeah. He’s a head shrink. They say he’s one of the best, but he’s a really nice guy.”

“Good. That’s good.”

A part of him wanted to be upset with Betty, but it had been five years with no contact. She had never accepted any of his attempts at contact. He should have known. Mostly, he was happy and relieved that she was safe and had someone taking care of her.

“Bruce,” Stanley said, snapping him out of his thoughts, “what can I do to help you?”

“I could use a bed for a few nights.”

“You can have the spare room upstairs.”

“That’d be so great,” Bruce smiled, “there is one other thing.”

Bruce was back in the university the next day, in Stanley’s pizza delivery uniform.

“Excuse me! Pardon me! Coming through!”

He was enjoying his time riding the delivery bike a little too much, but he decided that he deserved this little bit of happiness after all he’d been through. 

He rode his way into the building and walked to the security desk.

“Hey pal, I got a delivery on five.”

The security guard on duty furrowed his brows in confusion.

“I don’t think there’s anybody up there.”

“Oh man,” Bruce sighed, “I’m gonna catch hell if I don’t collect. You gotta let me try. I’ll tell you what, I got an extra medium. Take it, on the house.”

He handed over the box of pizza he prepared specifically for this situation. The security guard grabbed it with a cautious look. He peeked inside the box and was satisfied with the pizza. He smirked and nodded for Bruce to go on upstairs.

The walk down the hallway to the lab felt as if he had been transported to an alternate dimension, every door opening him up to rooms of memories he had created with Betty and the other scientists - scientists he had  _ murdered _

He snapped himself out of it. There wasn’t time to throw a pity party. He entered the lab, quickly locating Betty’s computer. What was her password again?

Maybe…

He typed in the first thing he recalled, and was granted access to the account. He started his search.

**GAMMA PULSE: No match found**

**B* BANNER: No match found**

Dejected, he closed the search engine and logged onto Encryptnet.

**LOGIN - REMOTE CHAT**

**CALLING MR. BLUE…**

**Mr. Blue:** _ Mr. Green! How goes the search? _

**Bruce:** _ The data is gone. _

**Mr. Blue:** _ Without it…  _

**Mr. Blue:** _ I cannot help _

**Mr. Blue:** _ So what now? _

**Bruce:** _ I’ve got to keep moving _

Bruce packed his stuff as soon as he got home, tuning out Stan trying to turn a couple away after closing hours. 

“Stan?” He called out as he descended the stairs, and walked into the kitchen, bag in hand. The practical part of him told him to leave as soon as possible, but Bruce was always a softie at heart. He hadn’t seen Stan in five years and owed him at least a goodbye.

His footsteps slowed as he saw the couple sitting with Stan.

He recognised the guy who was speaking.

“And he… I go ‘so yeah, I mean, where were you?’ ‘I can’t, I don’t know where you were, Cecil,’ and he goes, not where you been at.’ I thought, ‘oh, my god.’ I just felt so awful.”

Bruce stared, frozen, as Betty’s head peeked up from behind her boyfriend, eyes lighting up in shock and recognition.

_ shit  _

Bruce quickly backtracked into the kitchen and out into the back alley, ducking behind a dumpster just in time to hear Betty call out for him.

“Betty? What’s going on?” The muffled voice of her boyfriend could be heard from the dining area.

Once Betty’s footsteps had slowly faded, Bruce allowed himself to breathe. He breathed until the knot in his chest loosened and he could move again. 

_ it’s for the best. She wants nothing to do with you _

It took all of his self-control to walk away from Stan’s, from Betty and her newfound love, from what everything used to be.

_ it’s for the best _

He told himself again, hours later when he trudged along the road in the rain.

So lost was he in his thoughts, he barely noticed the car that pulled up next to him, or the clacking of heels as the driver ran towards him until he was pulled into a tight embrace. One inhale was enough to tell him who he was embracing - Betty liked her perfume too much to try anything else.

“Don’t go. Don’t go. I want you to come with me. Please, come with me.”

He wrapped his arms tighter around her.

Bruce had spent all of his self-control on walking away. He had none left. They pulled up in the driveway of Betty’s house. Betty closed the curtains as soon as they got inside.

It was just the two of them. Almost like old times. They locked gazes for what felt like eternity, just  _ looking _ , seeing, believing, committing the other to memory because five years ago they never got the chance.

Betty was the first to break eye contact, holding out a silver box for Bruce to take.

“It’s our data,” Betty said as he opened the box to reveal a USB, “I got in there before they carted it all away. I hoped somewhere that it might tell us something someday.”

“Does the general know you have this?”

“No, I don’t think so. I haven’t spoken to him in a couple of years.”

Bruce frowned, “you have to be sure.”

“Bruce,” Betty said, mirroring his frown, “I don’t understand why we can’t just go in there together and talk to him.”

“Betty - you know why. The general doesn’t want me, he wants my  _ blood _ to make weapons for war. He  _ hates  _ me. Isn’t that why you ignored me until today?”

“What?” Betty shook her head in confusion, “Bruce, what? I never received a single note or letter from you, I thought you wanted nothing to do with me, maybe you moved on…”

“I didn’t. I tried to contact you but there was never a response.”

Betty cursed under her breath, running a hand through her hair, “dad must have intercepted all of them. All those years thinking you had given up on us - oh god, Bruce, I am so sorry-”

“It’s alright,” Bruce forced a smile, “I didn’t think we’d ever meet again. It would be unfair of me to be upset at you for moving on. You’re happy. You’re practically  _ glowing _ . How could I ever fault you for that?”

Betty’s lips tilted upward, before her eyes widened.

“Samson! I just left him at Stan’s, he must be so worried-”

“Call him.”

She sent Bruce a grateful look, “thank you, Bruce.”

While Betty made her call, he walked around her apartment, cataloguing how much had changed since he’d last been there. 

Betty and Bruce revolved around each other - coming close and then pulling away, awkward, curious, unsure - for the rest of the day. Somewhere during a “coming close” period, Betty handed Bruce a razor for his growing stubble, and talked him into letting her at least walk him to the station the next morning - because Bruce couldn’t stay. It wasn’t safe.

  
Bruce laid awake in his old bed that night, mind filled with thoughts of Betty. Elizabeth Ross was an enigma when he first met her and she was an enigma today. A lot could happen -  _ did  _ happen - in five years. He thought of the ring he had kept in his pocket before the incident, the ring he had pawned away in some town, three years after he was forced on the run. He thought of the Betty he loved, so different from the Betty sleeping down the hall. She had changed, they both had. Bright eyes with hope for the future had dimmed to a more manageable caution. His thoughts drifted to Betty and her new partner Samson - smart, respectable, and most of all, he treated her the way she deserved to be treated. Betty was beautiful before and she was even more so now, almost glowing with happiness.

With a mind filled with thoughts of Betty, both past and present, he drifted off to sleep.

~~~

“We’re giving you a very low dose only. I need you sharp out there and disciplined. First sign of any side effect, we stop and you’re off the team until you straighten out. Agreed?”

“Agreed.”

The general, pleased with Emil’s determination, nodded for the doctor to begin the procedure.

“You’ll get two separate infusions,” the doctor explained, “one into deep muscle, one into bone marrow centres. The bone ones are going to hurt.”

Without warning, a syringe of serum was injected into the back of his neck. Emil remembered being moved to a bed and being strapped down to expose his back, a sharp pain in his spine, and mind-numbing pain.

~~~

“Is everything okay?” Betty asked as they left the apartment.

“I think so.”

Betty flashed him a smile, which he returned. They walked side by side to the station.

“Did you talk to Samson?”   
  
“Yeah, I’m meeting him after you leave so we can talk it out. Come here, I just want to do this.”

Betty untucked Bruce’s shirt, tugging a little at the edges to make small adjustments. It felt almost domestic, intimate.

“Oh,” was all he could say.

“It’s better like that.”

“Yeah?”

Betty took his hat so she could look him in the eye. They took another moment to commit the other to memory.

“It feels too tight, huh?” She asked.

“Yeah, a little,” he responded.

They shared another smile. Bruce looked around for something to bring up as a conversation topic, but instead caught sight of numerous soldiers hiding behind the trees and pillars. 

He froze.

“What?” Betty asked, looking around.

“They’re here,” he said, “Betty, look at me. Look at me!”

“Bruce!”

“You have to go as far away from me as you can! Don’t argue with me! Just go!”

“Go!” He yelled as he broke into a run, hearing the screeching of tires as multiple cars gave chase.

In the distance, he could hear Betty call for him. He was suddenly cut off by a familiar soldier - he recognised the soldier as the one from Brazil, the one who had spotted him first. He immediately switched directions, running towards the nearby library. The soldiers were fast, but the familiar soldier was faster - a lot faster than Bruce remembered.

He ran into the library and ducked behind an aisle, buying him enough time to shove the USB down his throat and force himself to swallow. It should have been a painful process, but adrenaline and desperation made it almost painless.

He had barely gotten the USB inside his body before the soldiers stormed into the library and one of them spotted him. Two canisters of sedative gas were fired into the library as civilians continued running out of the building.

_ shit _

He quickly pulled off his shirt to cover his nose and mouth. Glancing out the window, he spotted Betty among the military trucks running towards him.

_ no, run away! _

Bruce saw the general yelling something at his daughter, then he saw one of the soldiers tackling Betty to the floor.

_ Betty! _

Then he saw green.

~~~

_ “Bruce?” _

_ Somewhere inside the green fog, he remembered seeing Betty’s face. He remembered hearing the general yelling at the soldiers to fire. He felt the monster covering Betty with his body to protect her from the onslaught of bullets, and faded back into the fog. _

_ The monster would take care of her. _

~~~

Ross led the soldiers as they marched out of his daughter’s house, carrying boxes filled with anything that could give them a lead on where the monster would have taken her. He paused on the porch to speak to Samson, who sat forlornly on the front steps. 

Samson was a hundred times better than Banner, and Ross liked him even more after the help he had provided.

“You did the right thing by calling,” Ross said, “I need to know where they’re going. She’ll be in incredible danger as long as she’s with him.”

“From who?” Samson asked, “he protected her. You almost killed her.”

Ross held in a wince as he remembered calling for shots to be fired at the monster, not knowing that his daughter was in the killzone. He had thought that seeing the monster Banner could become would be enough for Betty to learn. Everything would have gone smoothly if his foolish daughter had not meddled in military affairs.

“I give you my word, her safety is my concern at this point.”

“You know,” Samson said, standing up to look the general in the eye, “it’s a point of professional pride with me that I can always tell when somebody’s lying, and you are.”

Ross bristled, mustering all of his self-control to not put the scientist back in his place. He took it back - Ross did  _ not  _ like the scientist one bit.

“I don’t know where it’s going,” Samson continued, “I know she’ll help him if she can.”

“Then she’s aiding a fugitive, and I can’t help either one of them,” Ross declared, turning to walk away.

“I used to wonder why she never talked about you,” Samson shouted from behind him, “now I know!”

Ross continued walking until he reached the car waiting for him.

“Where does she meet these guys?” Ross wondered aloud as he got into the car.


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Mr. Green, meet Mr. Blue.

The next time Bruce awoke, he was shirtless, shivering cold and Betty was seated next to him on the cold ground of wherever his mutation had taken them to. The next few hours were a blur of events - checking into a motel, being unable to take showers without getting flashbacks to the rain of bullets that fell onto his mutation from military helicopters in the split second he saw through the fog, to… forcing himself to regurgitate the data he swallowed.

He coughed out the USB stick, and continued coughing for a while. When his body stopped detecting irritation, he picked up his toothbrush and brushed away the ickiness.

"Bruce?" Betty called from outside the bathroom. 

Bruce opened the door to greet her.

"Are you okay?" She asked, brows furrowed in concern. 

"Yeah," he said, realising that she had probably heard his coughing fit, "yeah, actually I feel a lot better."

"Good," she smiled, a little relieved.

"I just, um," he held up the USB drive, "I just had to get my data back."

"You ate it?"

"Well, you know, the circumstances called for a little improvisation," he defended himself.

"Wow," she said, dropping the topic and walking over to the bags she brought from her grocery run, "so they didn't have a great selection but I brought you a few options."

She rifled through the bags, pulling out a small assortment of candy bars, food and hygiene products.

"First things first," she mused, and tossed him a box.

He caught it to see that it was a digital watch. 

"Oh, you're kidding me," he said, awed and grateful. How did he ever deserve her?

Betty only laughed in response.

While Bruce put on the watch, something else was tossed at him - a pair of bright purple shorts. He looked up to blink at Betty.

"What?" She asked, smiling.

"No," was all he said before tossing the shorts back at her.

Betty laughed, "they were the stretchiest pair they had!"

"I'll take my chances."

The motel was modest, with a bed, bathroom, and a small television set. They put the TV on at night to drown out their thoughts, and surfed channels until they landed on a news channel covering the incident at the university.

“Rumours continue to swirl about a violent clash between the forces of the U.S. military and an unknown adversary on the campus of Culver University today. Sophomores Jack McGee and Jim Wilson witnessed some of the battle.”

The news reporter passed the microphone to the two boys who stood beside her, eyes wide with excitement.

“It was so big!” One of them said, “It was this huge, like, Hulk!”

“Yeah!” The other agreed.

The news reporter continued the report, “McGee, who happens to be a reporter for the campus newspaper happened to capture this on his cellphone. Further search for this mysterious Hulk was postponed by powerful thunderstorms in the Smoky Mountains National Forest.”

As footage of the battle played on the screen, Betty turned to Bruce.

“Hulk, huh? Kinda like it.”

Bruce scoffed, “I don’t want it to have a name.”

“ _It_ saved my life, you know. Even tried to protect me from lightning,” Betty smiled, casting Bruce a knowing look, “I think it, or he, or whatever you transform into, thought I was of great importance.”

He cracked a small smile, “you _are_ of great importance, one of my few good memories, actually. The best I ever had.”

“Bruce-”

“I know. It’s in the past, you’ve moved on, and I’m happy that you did. That doesn’t make you any less important to me.”

“Bruce,” Betty whispered, her words barely audible, just for the two of them to hear, “you’re important to me, too. There is _nothing_ I wouldn’t do for you.”

“I know. Did you contact your boyfriend?”

  
  
Betty shook her head, sighing, “It’s better that he knows as little as possible - dad knows where he lives, after all.”

“Have you moved on, at all?” She asked.

Bruce shook his head, glancing at his hands.

“It’s hard, there were… one or two, but they never lasted. Even kissing is dangerous, for me. Nobody could possibly live with that, not to mention my being on the run.”

“You can’t get even a little excited?” 

Bruce shook his head. Betty placed her hand on his, offering comfort the only way she could.

~~~

General Ross took another puff of his cigarette as he sat in his office, the news report of the Culver University incident playing in the background. That incident was a mess and a half. Not only did he lose Banner, Banner took his daughter along with him on the run, they had close to no leads, and Emil Blonsky, his best soldier and the one successful experiment, had defied orders and fell splat against a tree. The last time he’d checked, Blonsky’s body had been bloodied and bruised beyond recognition.

_“Will he ever walk again?”_

_  
__“Most of the bones in his body look like crushed gravel right now.”_

A shame, really. Blonsky had so much potential.

His thoughts were interrupted by a soldier bursting into his office, panting heavily.

“Sir, it’s Blonsky.”

No more needed to be said. Ross followed the group of soldiers to the medbay where Blonsky was held in urgent care. 

“Has anyone found out if he has next-of-kin or family?” He asked as they reached the medbay.

“Ask him yourself,” the soldier said, nodding to Blonsky on the bed, looking like he had never been injured and strong enough to move.

“Sir,” Blonsky greeted.

Ross walked forward, awed, and placed a hand on Blonsky’s shoulder. This was incredible news. The serum was a huge success.

“Let’s see you up on your feet, soldier.”

“Okay, sir.”

Ross nodded in approval, “how do you feel?”

“Pissed off and ready for round three.”

The general and the supersoldier locked eyes, mirroring smirks on their faces. This was incredible news.

~~~

The next morning, Bruce dumped the contents of Betty’s purse onto the motel bed, sorting out what they would take with them to their next stop.

“Basically, we can’t use any of this because they can track all of it.”

“Well, my lipgloss,” Betty piped up, “can they track that?”

“No, you can have your lipgloss,” he said, handing it to Betty.

“Thank you,” Betty smiled, “Well, I need my glasses.”

“Well,” Bruce quickly grabbed the items as he spoke, “you can have your glasses and your watch. We can use most of it! We just can’t use the credit cards, the ID, or the phone - don’t even think about turning that on.”

“Okay,” Betty nodded.

“We’ll take the cash, obviously.”

“How are we going to get where we need to go with forty dollars and no credit cards?”

Bruce paused for a moment, trying to think of a solution to her question. After a few moments, Betty reached to her neck, grabbing the necklace that hung there.

“Well, we could sell this?”

  
  
“No,” Bruce’s eyes widened, “no, that’s the only thing you have from- no.”

“We’ll have to try and get it back,” she responded, staring him down.

They both knew they had no other choice.

~~~

“Federals are already monitoring phones, plastic and Dr. Ross’ web accounts and local PD have been placed on alert. They’ll pop up somewhere and when they do, it comes straight to us.”

“They’re not just going to pop up,” Ross said, “he made it five years and went across many borders without making any mistakes and they’re not going to use a damn credit card now.”

The general stood up to address the whole conference room of soldiers.

“He was trying to escape and be long gone. He’s not trying to escape this time. He’s looking for help and that’s how we’re going to get him. We know what they’re after and we know that he’s been talking to somebody and we’ll have copies of the correspondence. The aliases Mr. Blue and Mr. Green have been added to the SHIELD operations database. If he comes up for air, we’ll be waiting. If he makes a peep, we’ll hear him. And when he slips up, we’ll be ready.”

~~~

Sure enough, an email was sent to a Mr. Blue from a gas station computer. That single email was enough to connect multiple files, bringing up a stream of information in the SHIELD operations database. The room full of FBI and military soldiers waited, reading the display until a beep sounded from a computer.

**MATCH FOUND**

Further analysis revealed the location of one Dr. Samuel Sterns, AKA Mr. Blue, a cellular biologist in Grayburn College, NYC.

~~~

Bruce snuck out of the gas station, quickly swiping the “For Sale” sign off a car as Betty approached with a camera in hand.

“Hey! Smile!”

He smiled, and she took a picture, then it was back on the road, in their new car.

“What is it like?” Betty asked, when they were a good distance away, driving somewhere in a forest, “what happens, what do you experience?”

“Remember those experiments we volunteered for at Harvard? Those induced hallucinations?”

Betty nodded.

“It’s a lot like that, but a thousand times amplified,” he continued, “it’s like someone’s poured a liter of acid into my brain.”

“Do you remember anything?”

  
  
“Just fragments. Images. There’s too much noise, I can never derive anything out of it.”

“But then,” she pointed out, “it’s still you inside it!”

“No, it’s not.”

“I don’t know,” Betty mused, “In the cave, it felt like it really knew me. Maybe your mind is in there, it’s just overcharged and can’t process what’s happening.”

“I don’t want to control it,” he stated, “I want to get rid of it.”

That was the end of the conversation, and they continued their journey, the subject put to rest. They drove in silence, Bruce slowly dozing off in his seat.

He snapped awake from a nightmare, the same recurring one with the familiar soldier, gun pointed at him.

“Bruce, wake up,” Betty called, “there’s something going on.”

He sat up, looking out the windshield. Hr hopped out of the car and took a look at the long line of traffic. Several feet in front, an electronic message board read “Be prepared to stop. Roadwork ahead.”

He caught a glance of policemen identifying everyone in front at the toll gates.

He hopped back into the car.

“We need to go. Walk towards the back, just don’t move too fast.”

They both got out of the car, trying to look casual as they walked to the side bridge, continuing until they reached a boatyard and convinced a boatman to take them across to New York City. The city was unfamiliar, and they wandered for a bit until they found a map.

“It’s a long way uptown. I think the subway’s probably quickest,” Betty observed.

“Me in a metal tube, deep underground, with hundreds of people in the most aggressive city in the world?”

“Right,” Betty conceded, “let’s take a cab.”

Subway or cab, Bruce didn’t think it made much of a difference. Their cab driver was reckless, weaving in and out of traffic like he was in a car chase, pursued by cops.

“Very nice, you see? Very pretty,” the cab driver commented, turning to face them, then yelling when he turned back to face the road, slamming on the brakes. The car had almost hit someone.

_this is not good_

_beep beep beep_

He allowed himself a glance at his watch.

_97… 98… 99..._

An enraged Betty got the driver to pull over, ushering Bruce out before slamming the door.

“Are you out of your mind? What is wrong with you?” Betty exclaimed.

“What’s the matter, baby?” The driver responded, “you don’t like a good ride?”

The driver ended his response with a smooch, driving away, but not before Betty kicked the wheel.

“Asshole!” Betty screamed at the now distant cab.

Bruce stared at her in shock. 

“You know, I know a few techniques that could help you manage that anger very effectively.”

“You zip it. We’re walking.”

“Okay.”

So they walked, all the way to Grayburn College, taking rest stops on the way whenever needed.

They caught Dr. Sterns as he exited the university.

“Excuse me, Dr. Sterns?” Betty called, “I’m sorry to bother you. I’m Elizabeth Ross.”

Sterns’ face lit up in recognition.

“Oh! Dr. Ross!”

“I have someone who’d like to meet you,” she continued.

“Okay?”

Bruce took a deep breath, walking up to them.

This was it.

“Mr. Blue, isn’t it?”

Sterns’ smile fell.

“Mr. Green?” He asked in return, eyes doing a quick assessment of Bruce, “come.”

They were quickly led into Sterns’ cluttered office.

“I gotta tell you, I’ve been wondering if you were even real. An- and if you were, what would you look like?” Sterns rambled as soon as the door was closed, “I mean, a person with that much power lurking in him. Nothing could’ve surprised me more than this unassuming man shaking my hand. But look, we’re not strolling into the park for a picnic here. Even if everything goes perfectly, if we induce an episode, if we get the dosage exactly right, is that going to be a lasting cure, or just some antidote to suppress that specific flare-up? I don’t know.”

His expression turned serious, “what I’m saying is, if we overshoot this by even the smallest integer… we’re dealing with concentrations with extraordinary levels of toxicity.”

“You mean it could kill him,” Betty clarified.

“Kill him? Yeah, I should say so.”

“You should know there’s a flipside to this too,” Bruce chimed in, “if we miss on the low side, if we induce me and it fails, this would be very dangerous for you.”

Stern let out a small burst of laughter.

“Look, I’ve always been more curious than cautious, and that’s served me pretty well. So, are we going to do this?”

~~~

Emil Blonsky stood in front of the bathroom mirror, frozen in horror at the sight of his reflection. His spine started rippling and pushing against the skin of his back.

The helicopter deployed for the mission landed outside, signalling time for departure. 

He boarded the helicopter to join the other soldiers waiting inside.

“How are you feeling, man?”

Emil grinned.

“Like a monster.”

~~~

Dr. Sterns ripped the plastic covering off a table chair that looked disturbingly like a set-up for a lethal injection, before turning on the machines surrounding the table.

“Okay,” he beckoned Bruce over, “on the table.”

“This will protect you from yourself if you have a strong reaction,” he said, tightening the restraints around one of Bruce’s arms.

“You can tell me later if you thought it was strong,” Bruce replied.

One of the machines let out a warning sound, a shrill beeping as Betty tightened the restraints around Bruce’s other arm.

“Oh, come on,” Stern smacked the machine in frustration, ignoring Bruce and Betty’s alarmed looks, “stupid graduate students.”

Bruce traded an uncertain look with Betty.

“Okay, you, you, you,” Sterns muttered to himself as he started the machines, “this will be a somewhat novel sensation. We have begun!”

Blood started flowing from Bruce’s arms into a machine, filling up a vial.

“The dialysis machine will mix the antidote with your blood, so the antidote will only take hold once we’ve achieved the full reaction.”

“Just relax,” Betty said, standing beside Bruce.

“Okay,” Sterns announced, “we are comprehensive.”

He handed a rubber guard to Betty and the two scientists got to work, with Sterns placing sensors on the sides of Bruce’s temples and Betty placing the rubber guard in Bruce’s mouth for him to bite on so he wouldn’t hurt himself.

“Alright, we’re set to pop, and take your hands off him,” Sterns warned, a device in his hand.

After testing the device, he leaned forward and swiftly pressed the metal against Bruce’s temples and sent an electric charge that lasted a second before pulling away. Bruce’s muffled screaming could be heard as he convulsed in pain.

_it hurts_

He could feel the pain starting to awake the Hulk, his eyes forcefully snapping open to green-tinged vision. He panted, noting that his skin was starting to take on a pale green tint. He felt his muscles being strained and his bones cracking as his veins became visible through his skin.

He vaguely heard an “oh my god” in the distance as he fought for control over his body.

He bit on the mouth guard so hard it was sent flying out of his mouth. His shoulders started rippling and crackling, the sound of it nauseating and the pain unbearable. He screamed and writhed as he felt his body expanding. 

“Wait, wait!” Betty shouted, “there’s more!”

Bruce slowly lost the fight, fading back into green fog as he felt his body expanding, expanding, expanding…

...

_“Now, now, now , now!”_

_“Wait.”_

_“Now! Do it! Do it!”._

_“Bruce, look at me, stay with me.”_

_“The antidote, now! Sterns, do it now!”_

_“Bruce, look at me. Look in my eyes. Please, look in my eyes.”_

_Beep beep beep beep_

_“You gotta be kidding me!”_

_“Bruce?”_

_“Oh my god.”_

_“Bruce? Bruce, can you hear me?”_ _  
  
_

_“Bruce!”_

...

Bruce snapped awake to Betty leaning over him, eyes brimming with unshed tears. 

_what happened?_

_did we do it?_

_is it over?_

She held his head, forcing his gaze to stay on her when he turned to look around.

“It’s okay,” she breathed, “you’re okay. You did it.”

“He’s fine,” Sterns confirmed, “it’s fantastic.”

“It’s over,” Betty concluded.

Bruce couldn’t stop the hopeful smile that stretched his lips.

“Hi,” he greeted.

“Hi,” she replied, mirroring his relieved smile.

The moment of peace, relief, hope and lingering uncertainty stretched for a while, Bruce and Betty lost in each other, both grateful that the other was okay.

“That was _the_ most extraordinary thing I have ever seen in my entire life!”

Stern’s awed outburst awakened the two scientists’ curiosity.

“You know what?” Betty piped up, turning to face Sterns, “we need to go back and talk about what just happened in there!”

“Absolutely, okay,” Sterns nodded enthusiastically, slamming his hand on the desk in his excitement, “the gamma pulse came from the amygdala. I think Dr. Ross’ primer lets the cells temporarily absorb the energy, then it abates! That’s why you didn’t die of radiation sickness years ago! Now, maybe we’ve neutralised those cells permanently or maybe we just suppressed that event. I’m inclined to think the latter, but it’s hard to know because none of our test subjects ever survived.”

Bruce sat up in alarm.

“Of course,” Sterns continued, “they never had a primer-”

“Wait, wait, wait,” Bruce cut in, “what did you just say?”

“They weren’t getting the bio-”

“No no no,” Bruce interrupted, “test subjects? What test subjects?”

Sterns looked away, realising he had slipped up. He slowly turned around and started walking.

“Come with me.”

~~~

“What’s the activity level?”

“Snipers are covering alpha sector.”

Around campus, police cars and military vehicles surrounded the building.

On the roof, two snipers listened in on the conversation, Sterns’ voice loud and clear on their radio.

~~~

“We started on rats and mice but it just completely fried so we had to go bigger,” Sterns explained, pushing open a set of double doors, “we still don’t know which is more toxic - the gamma or your blood?”

“What do you mean my blood?”

“Bruce,” Sterns gestured around the room, lined with glass displays of blood bags labelled “Mr. Green”, each with their own detailed information. A board displayed the information “Mr. Green, Batch: 7754, Strength: 1.08%”. “This is all you. You didn’t send me much to work with so I had to concentrate it and make more. With a little more trial and error there’s no end to what we can do! This is potentially olympian!”

Bruce and Betty stared at the tens of hundreds of blood bags in the cases, speechless, as Sterns continued his tirade.

“This gamma technology has limitless applications! It will unlock hundreds of cures! We will make humans impervious to disease!”

“No, no,” Bruce shook his head in horror, “we’ve got to destroy it.”

The thought of _all that blood_ in the general’s hands…

The thought of a hundred Hulks in the military, roaming about the world…

_never_

“Wait, what?” Sterns asked, slowly deflating.

“All of it. Tonight,” the sooner the better, he thought, “we’re going to incinerate it. Is this the whole supply?”

Sterns reeled back in a flinch, blinking at Bruce in disbelief. He looked to Betty, who only shook her head in disapproval.

“We could get the Nobel for this!” He argued.

“You don’t understand the power of this thing. It is too dangerous. It cannot be controlled.”

They had just gotten rid of the Hulk, after five years. They were not risking another one.

“But we have the antidote now!”

“They don’t want the antidote!” Bruce snapped, “they want to make it a weapon.”

~~~

“At your discretion, soldier.”

“... no shot. Blonsky’s going in.”

“Blonsky, stand down! My daughter’s in there!”

~~~

“And if we let it go we will never get it back! You don’t have any idea how powerful this thing is!” Bruce was shaking now, whether in anger or fear he had yet to determine for himself.

“I hate the government just as much as anyone,” Sterns frowned, “but you’re being a little paranoid, don’t you think?”

Betty opened her mouth to cut in, barely getting a word out before Bruce gasped in shock, pulling a tranq dart from his back.

Bruce collapsed to the floor as Sterns screamed in fright. Betty held him by his shoulders.

“Bruce, Bruce!” 

Bruce looked past Betty’s face to see the familiar soldier - the one from all the times before - walking towards them. He looked almost sickly, pale, maybe a little insane.

This wasn’t good.

“Get out,” the soldier said to Betty, throwing her into a metal cabinet.

Bruce tried to scream for Betty, but was stopped by the soldier, who grabbed his face tight,

“Where is it?” The soldier hissed, repeatedly slapping Bruce across the face.

Slap. Slap. Slap.

beep beep beep

_beepbeepbeepbeep_

“Show him to me!”

_shitshitshitshit_

He didn’t want to turn, he didn’t want to turn, he didn’t want-

He didn’t turn. His eyes rolled back, dazed.

_it worked_

“Blonsky!” 

The soldier - Blonsky - cast a disgusted glance at Bruce, standing up to answer the call. 

One punch, and Bruce was unconscious.

Being unconscious was a novel experience, almost like falling asleep. There was no green fog, no lingering consciousness, no niggling at the back of his mind that his body was moving without his control.

It felt almost calming.

He woke up in a straightjacket, surrounded by military.

“Miss! Take this.”

Bruce watched a soldier drape a jacket over Betty’s shoulders. A sense of relief flooded him at seeing that she was alright. His view of Betty was suddenly blocked by the general’s mocking smirk.

“If you took it from me, I’m going to put you in a hole for the rest of your life,” Ross warned, stepping aside so that Bruce could be wheeled into one of the military helicopters.

_Sterns, please tell me you destroyed everything_

Ross stretched out his arm to stop his daughter from joining Banner in the vehicle. Her foolishness stopped now.

“Betty,” he tried, staring her down only to be met with a fierce glare.

“I will never forgive what you’ve done to him.”

“He’s a fugitive.”

“You _made_ him a fugitive,” she spat, “to cover your failures and protect your career. Don’t ever speak to me as your daughter again.”

“It’s only because you’re my daughter that you’re not in handcuffs, too.”

_Why couldn’t she just make things easy for him?_ He thought as his daughter turned away to walk into the helicopter.

~~~

“Are you telling me you can make more like him?” Cabot asked.

“No!” Sterns held his hands up, “not yet! Maybe! I sorta had a few of the same pieces but it’s not like I could put together the same Humpty Dumpty, if that’s what you’re asking. He was a freak accident! The goal is to do it better!”

  
  
“So Banner’s the only-”

Cabot jerked from a hard impact and fell to the ground, unconscious.

“Eh,” Blonsky shrugged, “she sounded like an annoying bitch.”

“Why are you always hitting people?” Sterns asked. Blonsky clearly wasn’t one for small talk though, because he pulled out a gun and aimed it at Sterns, “now what possibly could I have done to deserve such aggression?”

“It’s not what you’ve done. It’s what you’re going to do.”

“I like your use of future tense in that sentence, anyway,” Sterns cracked a nervous smile.

“I want what you got out of Banner.”

Sterns slowly stood up, taking in the soldier’s appearance. Pale, sickly, but strong enough to throw Dr. Ross into that cabinet without effort. Almost like the Hulk, only Mr. Green’s body handled the radiation a lot better, “you look like you’ve got a little something in you already, don’t you?”

“Yeah, well, I want more. You’ve seen what he becomes, right?”

“I have, and it’s beautiful,” he marveled, “god-like.”

“I want that. Need that. Give me that,” every word came out unsteady and raspy in a barely audible whisper. 

Sterns was all for experimentation, but Blonsky did not look well enough for another dose.

He voiced his reservations, “I don’t know what you’ve got inside you already, the mixture could be an abomination.”

Blonsky’s expression turned murderous. Sterns was lifted up into the air.

“I didn’t say I was unwilling!” He choked out, “I just need informed consent!”

He was promptly let back onto the ground.

“And you’ve given it,” he concluded.

Sterns led the way to the testing room. He grabbed a vial of blood labelled “Mr. Green” and inserted it into the injection machine, where it flowed into the veins of a shirtless Blonsky who laid on the table where Bruce was just a few hours ago. It didn't take long for the machines to start beeping furiously in warning. Sterns started turning off the machines frantically, hands shaking in fear at the horrifying snarling noises coming from the table.

“This is what I was trying to explain! I don’t get what you’ve been ladeling into yourself.”

The machines sparked and Sterns, with nothing left to do, cowered under the shadow of a quickly enlarging figure.

“Clearly it worked,” he tried to reason, “so let’s assume - you don’t understand a word I’m saying, do you? If you’ll just get back on the table…”

The creature was slimy, large, with broken, scaly skin and a line of spikes that protruded from its spine. It was an abomination.

“I can fix this!” 

He was sent flying into his machines with a _smack_. The abomination sighed in relief before letting out a spine-chilling chuckle. In the distance, Sterns could hear the soldiers outside being slammed against the walls, in danger from what used to be one of them.

“Two of our guys! Two of our guys are trapped in a room-”

A loud slam, and more screaming.

“Move, move, move!”

“Tell someone to report to the leader! Something big just went off down here!”

  
  
As Sterns struggled to stay alive, his lips turned upwards into a small grin. He had done it. He had created a god.

~~~

“Hulk is in the streets! I repeat! Hulk is in the streets!” A soldier’s screams echoed through the radio.

On the helicopter, General Ross turned to look at a restrained Bruce, who stared back.

“That’s impossible,” the general responded, “you get a hold of yourself young man. You get it together. What is your position?”

“121st street! Headed north on Broadway!”

Ross nodded, “turn us around!”

“We’re going back,” Bruce asked in confusion as the helicopter changed direction, “why are we going back?”

  
  
Beside him, Betty was as confused as he was, but his question went unanswered.

“Damnit, get me eyes down there!” Ross barked.

“Yes, sir!”

A loud explosion was heard on the road below.

“What the hell was that?”

Someone pulled up a live feed from one of the soldiers’ helmets. It was chaos, soldiers driving frantically, vehicles crashing into each other, cars being lifted and thrown by a massive creature, illuminated by the fire.

Bruce stood up when a loud growl sounded from the feed, watching the footage beside the general. He watched in confusion at the abomination - a massive creature that looked like Hulk, only paler, slimier, more _wrong_. 

“One of yours?” He asked the general.

“Oh, my god,” was the only response, and it chilled them down to the core - if Ross couldn’t control this, who could?

“What have you done?” Betty asked.

They watched in horror as the soldiers attempted firing a rocket launcher at the abomination. The abomination shrugged it off like a minor itch, stalking toward the soldiers.

“Get out of there, soldier!” Ross barked, but they could only watch helplessly as a taxi was thrown at the soldiers.

“Give me a real fight!” Was the last thing they heard before the footage was cut off. That phrase was enough to get Bruce’s hands shaking. The abomination was capable of clear, comprehensive speech. Hulk, on the other hand, was not.

The abomination was far more advanced, and far more destructive.

Everyone looked to Ross - the soldiers for guidance, Betty in disappointment, and Bruce in anger. 

“Tell them to bring everything they’ve got and head into Harlem,” Ross ordered.

Bruce sighed. This wasn’t working. Military ammunition did nothing against the Hulk, let alone the abomination. Unless…

“It has to be me,” he said, “you have to take me back there.”

“What are you saying?” Betty asked, “you think you can control it?”

“No, no, not control it. But, I don’t know, maybe, aim it?”

“And what if you can’t?” Ross yelled, his shout cutting through their quiet conversation.

Bruce looked Ross in the eye, unblinking, determined, pleasing, “we made this thing. All of us. Please.”

He must have been convincing, because after a few seconds of thought, Ross begrudgingly turned back to bark at the pilot, “land us near it.”

“No, no,” Bruce cut in, “keep us high. Open the back door.”

  
Ross conceded, nodding to a soldier who opened the back door. It was now or never. Bruce ran towards the opening at the back, but he was stopped by Betty before he could jump out.

“Bruce, stop!” Betty pleaded, “stop! What are you doing? Think about this! You don’t even know if you’ll change! You don’t have to do this, please! This is insane!”

“Betty, I’ve got to try! I’m sorry.”

He leaned forward to press a kiss to her cheek - a kiss goodbye, a kiss of gratitude, a _thank you_ for all the memories they had shared. He closed his eyes and leaned back, allowing himself to fall. He thought about all the things that made him angry - Ross, the Abomination, the thugs in Brazil. He could feel his heart rate speeding up until it threatened to beat out of his chest.

He opened his eyes, only to see that half his vision was tinged in green.

“Oh, shit,” he cursed as he continued falling down, down, down until he crashed onto hard pavement.

Everything went green.

~~~

_“Hulk.”_

_Mocking laughter, “come on!”_

_“Is that all you’ve got?”_

_The pitter-patter of a machine gun, raining bullets from above._

_An angry growl, “Ross!”_

_Suffocation, can’t breathe…_

_“You don’t deserve this power! Now watch her die!”_

_Getting the upper hand, seeing Betty safe and sound, “look out!”_

_Being slammed into the ground._

_“Any last words?”_

_“Hulk smash!”_

_Consuming anger, rage-fueled strength, trying to take off the head of the abomination who_ dared _threaten Betty-_

_“Stop!”_

_Stopping at the sound of Betty’s scream, watching through green fog as Betty slowly walked towards him, “it’s okay.”_

_Hulk lifting a finger to touch Betty’s face, curiosity,. Bruce told Hulk who she was, her name, what she meant to them, “Bet… ty.”_

_A spotlight, anger, running away from Betty and the military._

_Back on the run._

~~~

**BELLA COOLA - BRITISH COLUMBIA**

**DAYS WITHOUT INCIDENT - 31**

Bruce poured himself a cup of tea, observing Betty’s necklace. It had been quite a bit of trouble to get it back from the pawnshop, especially with what money he had raked up, but it meant a lot to Betty, and he was never going to let her lose something so important for him. He put it into an envelope, signing it to Betty Ross, and dropped it off to be sent to her.

He didn’t know if the letter was going to be intercepted, but he made sure to let her know that he was alive, and okay, and still learning to control his _power_.

With that done, he sat in the center of the room, cross-legged, and started his meditation. He was learning every day, and after so much time, he had learned one very important thing - the secret to controlling his power. 

There was no fighting the anger.

**DAYS WITHOUT INCIDENT - 0**

He was always angry, and that was his key to controlling it. He opened his eyes to familiar green fog, and let himself sink into it.

~~~

**UNKNOWN SLUM - INDIA**

**DAYS WITHOUT INCIDENT - 386**

“What are you doing here? Get out, you shouldn’t be here!”

“I have to see the doctor! It’s my father!”

Bruce looked up to see a little girl, eyes pleading. He waved his attendant away.

“Calm down,” he said, “what’s wrong?”

“My father…” the girl trailed off, staring at the bodies behind him. Bruce looked behind him to see his patients, lying down in their sickness.

“Is he like them?”

The little girl held out her hand, opening it to show a clump of dollar notes, “please.”

He followed the little girl out of his low-profile clinic to the outskirts. The little girl ran a little faster than he could catch up, and if he were any more distracted by running faster he would not have seen the government car. He quickly turned around, blocking the driver’s view of him as they passed by. He caught up to the little girl and entered her family’s shack.

At least, he thought it was her family’s shack, so why did the little girl escape through the window as soon as he entered?

“Should have got paid up front, Banner,” he muttered to himself.

He felt a presence behind him. He turned around to see a redheaded woman standing in front of the curtains she had been hiding behind. She had a very strong “don’t mess with me” aura, and Bruce was not comfortable.

“You know,” the woman said, “for a man who’s supposed to be avoiding stress, you picked a hell of a place to settle.”

“Avoiding stress isn’t the secret,” was his clipped response.

“Then what is it? Yoga?”

“You brought me to the edge of the city, smart,” he observed, recalling the passing government car, “I uh, assume the whole place is surrounded?”

“Just you and me.”

“And your actress buddy, is she a spy too? Do they start that young?”

“I did.”

He narrowed his eyes, “who are you?”

“Natasha Romanoff.”

That name rang a bell, a very huge alarm bell.

“Are you here to kill me, Miss Romanoff? Because that’s not gonna work out for everyone.”

“No,” she denied, her smile tight, “no, of course not. I’m here on behalf of SHIELD.”

“SHIELD. How did they find me?”

“We never lost you, Doctor. We’ve kept our distance, even helped keep some other interested parties off your scent.”

Bruce bristled at her use of ‘ _we’_ , but he had noticed that close-calls with the military had been few and far between lately, “why?”

“Nick Fury seems to trust you, but now I need you to come in.”

“What if I said no?”

“I’ll persuade you.”

She sounded confident. Interesting.

“And what if the… other guy says no?” He asked.

“You’ve been more than a year without an incident,” she shot back, just as fast, “I don’t think you wanna break that streak.”

He laughed, “I don’t always get what I want.”

“Doctor,” Romanoff cut in, her tone switching from light to serious in a blink, “we are facing a potential global catastrophe.”

“Well, those I actively try to avoid.”

She was unfazed by his attempt to shoot her down, instead pulling out her cell phone to show him a picture of a neon-blue cube.

“This is the Tesseract,” she explained, allowing Bruce to take a closer look, “it has the potential energy to wipe out the planet.”

“What does Fury want me to do, swallow it?”

“Well, he wants you to find it. It’s been taken. It emits a gamma signature that’s too weak for us to trace. There’s no one that knows gamma radiation like you do. If there was, that’s where I’d be.”

“So Fury isn’t after the monster?”

“Not that he’s told me.”

“And he tells you everything?”

The beat of silence that ensued between his question and her response told Bruce everything he needed to know.  
  
“Talk to Fury,” she responded, “he needs you on this.”

“He needs me in a cage?”

“No one’s gonna put you in a-”

_“Stop lying to me!”_ He shouted, letting go of his anger.

In an instant, Romanoff’s gun was up and pointed at him. The atmosphere grew tense. Bruce smiled.

“I’m sorry, that was mean. I just wanted to see what you’d do. Why don’t we do this the easy way, where you don’t use that, and the other guy doesn’t make a mess? Okay? Natasha…”

Romanoff, still wary, slowly lowered her gun and tilted her head to speak into her earpiece, “stand down, we’re good here.”

Bruce chanced a glance out the window to see many soldiers surrounding the shack, partially hidden in the night.

His smile widened.

“Just you and me?”

  
  
  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for reading the rewrite of The Incredible Hulk! Stay tuned for Iron Man 2's rewrite next Wednesday!


End file.
